


On Love: the Self

by Tigerine (sealink)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8326366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealink/pseuds/Tigerine
Summary: Yuuri has a few private moments where he allows himself to relieve all the 'eros' he's pent up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't stop thinking about this after Episode 3. This is completely unbeta'd. I'm so sorry.

Yuuri walks back into the locker room, his half-skirt swaying as he clomps back to the wooden bench and sits down to take off his skates. All the strength rushes out of his legs for a moment, and Yuuri just sits there, balancing his skate on the end of the rubber blade guards and drawing circles in the air with his toes.

_I know who I’m dancing for. But… when did it start being him and not katsudon?_

The sound of the electric lights hum overhead, and Yuuri leans down, pulling his laces out and untying them. They draw through the holes, sounding like the spall of ice from a blade and he slides it off, flexing his ankle.

_I wanted to see him smile at me, not like he would at a pork cutlet bowl._

He folds up the laces, tying them together, and pulls out the laces from the other skate. Hand under heel, he slips it off, wiggling his toes in the thick socks. He feels liquid with endorphins and the chemical signals of a fight won, a mate secured.

_W-Wait a minute… isn’t the male supposed to fight for the female? Which one am I?_

Yuuri slides the skates into their carrying bag and then stands up. He should feel sure-footed after being on the ice for so long and not having to balance on a blade so much, but, even now, he feels unsteady, like all the breadth of his feet isn’t enough to hold him up.

_I guess I’m not the kind of guy who can be the playboy. Usually, I think I’d be the one being seduced…_

He unzips the jacket and he can smell it, that faintest trace of Victor’s cologne or shampoo, or whatever it was he left on the costume during that hug.  

_I’d rather… be pursued… I’d rather him chase after me._

Yuuri lifts a hand and slides his fingertips over the spangles on the front of the costume. His nipples are hard, and impulsively, he peels his jacket off, so the cooler air can freeze his sweat-soaked body. His skin is singing under this electric current of ice. The confidence he’d had to look directly at Victor with come-hither eyes sinks down through his stomach and settles in a warm place between his legs.

_Ah, I’m—_

He didn’t wear gloves for this performance, and the show of his fingertips is somehow more scandalous compared to the mesh and flash over his chest. Yuuri reaches down between his legs and pulls aside the skirt—

_Victor’s skirt---_

He doesn’t really intend to tease himself with it, but the seconds he has left with this costume stretch out in front of him. Yuuri’s fingers slide over the aching throb in his crotch and he doubles over, sucking in his breath.

_Is this how it would feel to touch him…Victor?_

Even through the supportive undergarments dull the sensation, he can feel the shape of himself, aroused, outlined in mesh that had previously only been worn by Victor. He slides his finger down the side of his half-erect length and shudders out a small breath, licking his lips.

_Victor… was this the eros you wanted to show me?_

His hand slips lower, holding his balls—how did he get so hard so fast?—and pulling them forward. He grinds against his hand a little, his head between his knees. If anyone comes in, it’ll look like he was faint for a moment and put his head between his knees. If Victor comes in—

A small whimper leaves him and he claps his hand over his mouth, looking at the door. A moment passes, a split second of horror that thumbs over his spine like too-tight guitar strings. He lunges for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and locking it.

He sounds like a steam engine, huffing and puffing as he reaches over his shoulders, trying to draw the zipper down his back. Minako-sensei had showed him how to zip it up and every lesson he’d ever had on invisible zippers has been blasted from his mind by the gale of hormones that is swirling in his blood. The costume comes down over his arms and he looks down to find the collar, the place where their necks touched and Victor was left with him like the ghost of a lover he’s never had, following him around the rink as he flaunted his charms to an audience of one. It was embarrassing, because he felt like everyone could see his request, could see him asking Victor with his body to consume him, to rut with him, to find him by the light of a cell phone that night and make good on all the promises he’d been hinting at for days.

Yuuri slides his hand into his underwear, the other hand holding the collar up to his face. He closes his eyes and Victor is there again with him, a warm presence at his barely-covered hip. He’s not had much time or energy for this kind of thing. Everything’s been budgeted for skating, for toning, for form, for toe loops and Salchows. He breathes in again and pulls more urgently at his cock, closing his eyes.

_Victor._

It’s hot, so hot, in this mesh suit even though it’s half empty space and sequins, and he can barely move his hand enough inside the underwear and the costume, but somehow that’s more exciting, as if…

_The fabric that is pressing against me pressed against Victor._

He rolls his hips up, as if grinding against Victor’s length, and he bites his lower lip.

_It’s almost like…_

Yuuri tightens his grip on himself, trying to hold back…

_We’re doing this together._

A wet sound, soft and rhythmic, begins to echo lewdly in the stall and Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut even tighter.

_Faster, faster, hurry…._

He imagines that it’s Victor’s hand touching him so expertly, that knows the ways of love so well.

_More, please touch me, please look at me… more, Victor…_

It’s hot and firm at the base of his shaft, his orgasm growing in him like a barely chained explosion, and he leans back to avoid getting anything on Victor’s costume.

_Victor!_

He muffles all but the first gasp, a “Victor!’ that falls out of throat in shock. A gout of cum splashes over his chest and his hand slowly moves to a halt, Victor’s costume swagging between his legs as he’d widened them.

_Ah, tissue, tissue—_

“Yuuri!” Nishigori’s voice boomed down the hall well before his burly friend burst into the locker room. “Are you alright?”

“Ah… yes!!”

“Everyone’s waiting to give you a toast!”

“Y-Yes, I’m coming…” Yuuri looks at the mess of stringy white stuff over his skin and winces at the unintended pun. “Just had a few nerves.”

Nishigori laughs heartily. “Got it! We’re waiting for you at the front entrance… don’t you dare try to sneak out the back! You’ve earned this spotlight!”

Yuuri can hear the pride in Nishigori’s voice and he smiles. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

His voice is already fading down the hall. “Victor is already getting a head start on drinking, you know!”

“I know!”

The door shuts with a small boom and Yuuri looks down at himself with a resigned but blissful sigh.

_He’s already celebrating, huh?_

Yuuri cracks a smile and then presses his lips together to hide it before his feelings spell themselves out on his face.

_I guess we both are, in our own ways._


End file.
